


Hell and Back Again

by thefrogg



Series: Salt!verse [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-04
Updated: 2013-03-04
Packaged: 2017-12-04 08:15:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/708545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thefrogg/pseuds/thefrogg
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bobby finds out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hell and Back Again

**Author's Note:**

> Previously posted at my livejournal.

When it comes, the knock at the door is slow, almost hesitant. It's still recognizably Sam.

"Well, hell, boy, am I glad to see --" Bobby trails off, nearly swallowing his tongue as the reality framed in the open doorway sinks in.

"Hey, Bobby," Dean says wearily, leaning on Sam's shoulder.

Sam smiles, waving a hand listlessly in greeting.

Bobby glares at Sam. "You better not have done something stupid."

Dean leans closer, protectively, chin hooked over Sam's shoulder, rocking Sam with his bodyweight.

"Loophole," Sam whispers, turning his head to glance reassuringly at his brother. "We found a loophole."

"You mean you found a loophole," Dean mutters, his voice as shaky as the rest of him.

"Huh." Relaxing finally, Bobby lets the outrage fade as he takes in the pair's appearance.

Right hand twisted into Sam's t-shirt, Dean all but blankets Sam's taller form. The lines of jaw and cheek stand out in sharp relief, emphasizing the sunken pits of his eyes, and the dark circles beneath.

For his part, Sam looks exhausted, but otherwise settled. Stable, and without the edge of frantic determination that has dogged him since Dean made the Deal.

"You boys look like shit," Bobby says, taking a step back to usher them inside.

"I think that's an improvement over how I feel," Dean mumbles into Sam's shoulder, still half attached as the two of them stumble past Bobby into the house.

Bobby follows them to the kitchen, watches them slump into chairs next to one another. 

Sam reaches out without thinking, keeping Dean from sliding to the floor with an arm across his chest. There's some mild jostling under the table, then stillness as they acquire an adequate level of contact, Sam's left ankle wrapped around Dean's right so their legs touch all the way up to the knee. Dean's staring down at the table, chin to his chest; Sam's glancing between his brother and the rest of the room, unnaturally silent, and wary even here.

For some reason, Bobby doesn't want to know what they've gone through, what stripped them of all sense of safety. Just the way Sam's shoulders relax at seeing the repaired Devil's Trap on the ceiling makes Bobby's hackles rise. Instead of breaking the silence, he grabs beer from the refrigerator, setting them down on the table between them.

Dean raises his head at the too-familiar sound, picking up each of the bottles before Bobby can get the opener, one after the other, and prying the cap off with his ring. He hands the first to Sam blindly, trusting Sam's grip, the next to Bobby, then rolls the cold glass of the third across his cheek, his forehead, grunting softly in pleasure.

"So," Bobby says, watching as the fading afternoon sunlight makes Sam and Dean glow, makes them look larger than life, hides the pallor, the weightloss. "You found a loophole?"

Dean flinches, the bottle bouncing on the table and tipping, bitter liquid sloshing over the back of his hand before he rights it again.

"Twenty four hours," Sam says, glancing at Dean from the corner of his eyes. "If they can't get you within twenty four hours, contract expires."

"'S in the fine print," Dean mumbles around the bottle, taking a quick swallow and not meeting Bobby's eyes.

"And you found this out...how?" Bobby frowns.

"Ruby." Sam raises his bottle in a mock toast.

"Bitch was good for something."

There's no mistaking the glare Sam shoots Dean, but it only lasts a moment. "The Trickster," he adds, voice soft, breathy.

"Wait a second here. You're telling me the things you hunt--"

"--didn't want to see Sam go all scorched earth on 'em." Dean finally meets Bobby's gaze, ironic humor glinting in his eyes. "Yup." He touches the neck of his beer bottle to Sam's with a quiet clink. "Oh, and don't forget the --" A hand on his arm stopped the list.

"The Trickster stuck us in a timeloop, gave me time to think. Extra time," Sam adds when Dean laughs, harsh and blunt. "Ruby found out about the time limit."

"So how'd you stop them? You may be two of the best hunters I've ever worked with, but even you can't keep Hellhounds off for that long without a break."

The pleased espression that flickers across Sam's face then is gratifying. At least, it is before Dean starts laughing, Sam joining him in near-hysterics a moment later.

Bobby can only wait it out, watching in concern until laughter hiccups to its groaning end. "Well?"

"They can't cross salt," Sam says, snickering.

Dean nudges Sam's arm, taking a swig of his beer.

"Salt lines don't last--"

"Not lines, salt. Like, miles of it." Sam and Dean trade a look as much amusement as relief. "I dragged him out to the middle of the Bonneville Salt Flats."

A slow smile cross Bobby's face. "Well, I'll be damned."

Sam shrugged. "Probably. Bastards downstairs are more'n likely gunning for us, since we cheated 'em."

"Well, you'll be safe here while we try and figure out how to get them to back off." 

Dean huffs. "That'll take a miracle."

Bobby smiled. "At least, as much as they ever do around the two of you."

Raising his bottle, Sam smiles wryly. "Cheers to that."


End file.
